Clever Girl

Chapter 34: Selfish

Stieg Larsson, in his book The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, wrote that friendship 'is built on two things - respect and trust. Both elements have to be there. And it has to be mutual. You can have respect for someone, but if you don't have trust, the friendship will crumble.' As I consider Will's implication, that I betrayed that trust, I'm bewildered and heartbroken and slightly bothered. Should I be offended he would even consider accusing me, or try to see things through his eyes. Maybe I'm the most logical person to accuse.

"Maybe someone overheard us talking about it?" I say, though that's probably unlikely. We only ever discussed it at his house. "Maybe a neighbour crept through your yard and saw through your window?"

"Yeah, maybe." He doesn't sound convinced, and I don't blame him. 

In the few months I've had to learn about friendship, I know I can't antagonize him for this. It'll only make it worse. "Is there anything I can do? Any way I can help at all?"

"What's there to do? Can't find out who tipped them off - that shit really is anonymous. Even if they have the drop on who made the call, there's no way they'd give that info to a civilian. Can't start it back up either, or they'll just get another stupid tip and I'll be fucked for sure."

While I can't for a second understand exactly what he's going through, the general loss for a solution is something I can relate to. When there are no answers, what do you do? Where do you go? I wish there was something I could do to make him feel better, to help him, but as I stand there and see the sadness and defeat on his face, I know it's hopeless. "I'm so, so sorry this happened. Will, I'm here if you need me."

He has his hands stuffed in his pockets, his head is slightly leaning to the left, like he's examining me. Maybe he's trying to figure if I'm being honest, if beyond the volume of evidence against me, he can still somehow trust me. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

"Um . . . I brought you some dessert." I open the lid of the box with the Danishes and show it to him, smiling nervously. 

"Thanks," he says, though he doesn't take the box from me. He then narrows his eyes, "You do know your boy Jay did this, right?"

"What? How would he know?"

"I don't know. But if you didn't do it, then it was him. I told you he's got it out for me. Maybe he overheard us talking. Or maybe he saw you texting me. Did you ever talk about this when he was around?"

I close the lid and place the box down on the small bench by the front door, then cross my arms across my chest. Before speaking again, I try to remain calm, to keep my tone light and without any accusation. "No of course not. I've always been careful. Besides, he's not my boy. Believe me."

"Well as long as you're his friend, or girlfriend, or whatever the hell else you are to him, we can't chill. He's a fucking nark and I can't have people like that have any kind of access to my life. Not through you or anyone else."

"Will, I'm sorry, I-"

"You need to stop with the sorry's," he steps forward suddenly and I move back, nearly tripping down the top step of the porch. "Look, I believe you, okay? It wasn't you and I shouldn't've accused you. But you have no idea what that psycho is capable of, and I need to be super careful now."

I wish I had all the time in the world, enough to really dig into the situation. To investigate. Maybe there's a way to find out who tipped off the police. To draw up a list of possible suspects and go through a proper process of elimination. Actually, if I'm wishing for something, I may as well wish for superpowers, ones that will show me the answers in an instant. Why not build a time machine? That'll solve everything.